Interlude
by Akira-Nyaag
Summary: During his rest on Calisto, Gren recalls his fated meeting with Vicious. [ViciousGren slash]
1. overture

**Summary:** During his rest on Calisto, Gren recalls his fated meeting with Vicious. Vicious/Gren slash

**Warning: **m/m relationship, some sexual content

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Cowboy Bebop or any characters/concepts there in.

Interlude

_Between the beginning and the end, there is a break- a pause of transition. In this lull, we loose ourselves. And before long, it all begins again._

**Chapter one - overture**

I used to wonder what it would be like to touch him. I would always look for his cold eyes, but they only looked outward. His existence seemed to incorporate that- looking past things, never at them. I would stand beside him at the start of each battle, but he was gone before I registered the shots from his gun, their guns. It was never particular, every sound clouded the air and I would move, fire, live, not because this was the life I wanted, but because one must live-or so I used to believe.

I would always worry for him, search for his silhouette amongst the sand and gunfire, just a flash of silver that let me know he wasn't among the dead. It seemed there was always a body at my feet, but there wasn't time to see whose, time to see if it was his, time to think it someday could be mine.

But when the explosions ended, the bodies fallen, and the dust settled I knew every thought I had was foolish. That man embodied death. I could only fear loosing myself without him knowing.

So when there was rest, the moments when I could think close enough to clearly, I would submerse myself in his presence. He would always be close by; he seemed not to need companionship but my existence he accepted, if not put up with. He was a god to me, some immortal whose just being there had become my saving grace. But he was human, just enough beyond the shroud of death he wore that allowed me to call him my comrade. Yet still, he was untouchable.

A particularly severe sandstorm occurred during battle once. Both sides had sense enough to retreat, but not before the last few grenades were thrown.

I heard the explosions nearby, only uplifting more sand if possible, and ran. I ran, because that's what one does when they see an explosion, but for all I knew I could have been running towards another. I clung to the cloth covering my face, futilely trying to shield myself from the fog of dust.

For a time there were flitting shadows amongst the plain of beige, even the occasional gun shot from when one came face to face with the enemy in a quick, unexpected skirmish. But soon all of that was gone and I resided myself to dying there, just like all the forgotten bodies I had moved around while fighting- my body would have been buried soon enough.

When I felt a hand clamp down on my shoulder I instinctively reached for my gun. I turned though, with the wind, and saw those dark eyes stare back. I almost thought death had truly come for me, had it not joined me in its weighted strides.

We walked side by side for some time, never talking, there was no need. I hadn't noticed who lead, if either of us did, but I felt he was guiding me- as if my god would save me again.

Eventually, we came upon a rock formation where an alcove had been made. The rock walls blocked out the sand and we took shelter in them. I leaned against the wall, struggling to catch my breath and shake the sand away from my face. We both stood there, still speechless, for some time. We were covered in the dust, choked by it still as we removed our cloaks.

I kept my eyes closed, and perhaps that was my mistake. I hadn't noticed when his figure came so close to mine, and when I felt a hand run down my chest, I questioned who had wandered in and was touching me. He removed my belt, pushed the jacket open and off one shoulder. The cold air rushed against my skin and through the thin undershirt.

I felt his parched lips press against my bare neck. I froze, my eyes opening in shock. I looked down at the silver hair pooling around a slim face, it was definitely Vicious.

My pulse beneath his lips quickened and he pressed harder, as if the blood running beneath could sate him. I became aware of the wind beating against the rock outside. The hollow sound echoed within and seemed to permeate my being.

He slid his cool lips further up my neck, and I felt his pulse from them, or perhaps my own through him. Waves of heat flushed my cheeks as he moved across my jaw, just inches from my lips. The wind blew harder outside, it too mirroring my blood.

My arm moved to reach around his back, but I was too numb. His lips met fully against my own and I felt the heat stroke my lower abdomen. I reached again to fist his hair, but he caught my wrist, pulling me closer, too close.

The pleasure ran through my body, there was no doubting he noticed, but thought had left me. It was Vicious, the untouchable god, holding me close, and I would have felt disgusted or shameful if only the touch of his fingers wasn't so warming.

He pulled away for a moment, meeting my eyes with his emotionless ones. There were still no words, we wouldn't say a thing. He crushed my lips again, still pulling me closer as we slid to the floor. I gasped at the feeling, my hips bucking against his thigh, as he guided me to my knees and removed my jacket entirely.

I watched him remove his own belt and open his jacket. He kneeled before me, pulling at the edge of my undershirt and lifting it. His palms pressed against my skin, leaving trails of heat as he removed the garment. At that, he sat back against the wall, pulling me against his clothed chest and between his drawn legs.

I rested my head back against his shoulder as his arms encircled my waist. He didn't move, he had stopped but I refused to beg, it wouldn't have worked on him.

And at that moment-lost in delirium, drunk in his arms- I dared to touch him. My hand rested on his, drawing it further down my stomach, settling on the bulge that quivered there. Hoping for one moment that he'd need no further coaxing, I'd failed to notice how cold he'd been to the touch.

He took the hint- whether it had been his intention or not, his fingers slid beneath the waistband of my pants, barely grazing hard flesh. He undid the pants, slightly pushing them down my hips with the meticulous attention he gave to all tasks.

His fingers played along my skin, running slowly from base to tip. I again wished to beg, wished to grip his hand tight around my erection and increase his slow pace, but I didn't. I wondered would it have been so bad to cry out for an immortal.

With the feel of his calloused palm rubbing in steady strokes, I threw my head back into Vicious's shoulder. The pleasure surged within my body as I came closer. His hands that kill had been making me moan, not from the death he brought, but from a release of a different kind.

Instinctively, he grasped tighter with such fast rhythm and brought me to climax. They must have been the same instincts that made one shoot before giving the chance to be shot at.

Lying against his chest, I listened to the heartbeat. My own chest rose and fell quickly as I regained my breath. The warmth that had washed through my body seemed to cling for some time, the blood beating within in one steady pulse.

The sound of the wind returned with my consciousness, seeming calmer in my soft haze. I noticed that Vicious's arms had found themselves around my waist again as I slowly fell asleep.

---

When I woke, Vicious was standing at the entrance, properly dressed and silhouetted by the morning light. At some point he must have cleaned me off and fixed my clothes as well. I rose and followed him out, still silent, only then I didn't have the slightest clue what to say. The night had seemed so distant, like it had all been a dream, but I had worn the evidence-a stained undershirt.

The winds had done their damage outside, where the scenery had settled completely different from the night before. Had it not been for Vicious's guidance I would have found myself lost again. I kept thinking only about how he could know right from left in that damned place, until lines of canvas tents told me we'd made it back.

Our absence hadn't been a surprise to anyone; it was our return that had been. Between the sandstorm and battle, we'd lost so many already. The camp regarded us with their initial shock and then with slight relief at having another two back. Past that, Vicious and I went our separate ways.

It had been early morning when we returned, but by noon I could feel the hum of conversation that had caught momentum following our return. I ignored it. Already too filled with confusion and thought, I had immediately returned to my tent.

I was lying there on my cot when the sun set outside. I deftly noted the other soldiers' coming and going, I focused more on the cigarette burning at my lips.

There was a dull thud of a body falling to a mattress, than a quieted, sly voice whispering, "So, how was he?"

I was taken aback and inhaled deeply. Pulling my eyes from the glimpses of burning sand through the wind swept tent door, I regarded the man who lay across from me.

"Well?" he tilted his head that rested against his hand. My teeth slightly ground into the filter.

"What are you talking about?" I exhaled a puff of smoke.

"You came back with Vicious, right? A bunch of guys were talking about it, said you had that look in your eyes, that something happened between you two. Why else would he bring you back?" I knew his type, there were so many of them out there, all starved for sex that they'd take any talk of it, whether real or fake. He went on, "You know as well as the rest of us that there's barely anything holding that guy back. He lives to kill. So, what was he like?"

I stubbed out the half smoked cigarette; ground it with the heel of my foot into the dirt floor. Let them talk, I thought. But suddenly a strange amusement grew in me, and I felt like humoring the guy.

"Like dry ice," I murmured, "cold to the point of burning." He stared at me, begging more. I continued, "Both unnerving and unforgettable." I never did forget. Before he could say anything else, in one motion I rose and walked out.


	2. prelude

**Summary:** During his rest on Calisto, Gren recalls his fated meeting with Vicious. Vicious/Gren slash

**Warning: **implied m/m relationship

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Cowboy Bebop or any characters/concepts there in.

Interlude

_Between the beginning and the end, there is a break- a pause of transition. In this lull, we loose ourselves. And before long, it all begins again._

**Chapter two - prelude**

Three years later, I stand in the warm, red spotlight of a small stage, in a bar, on a forgotten moon. The mouthpiece of a saxophone rests against my lips and the few crowded in the bar hush in expectance-they're waiting for me to play.

Tonight, after so long, I'm about to perform the song that got me here. That one lilting melody that haunted me for three years, that was my very existence till the point of breaking, is going to be heard; because soon, it'll all end.

It' s rather ironic really, that after spending two years in a cold, dark prison cell I'd end up in another cold, dark place. Another place where we're all convicts and wanted men, where we're still alone, and where nothing will ever change.

No one asks where you came from or why you're here; they just understand you're one and the same. And after a while, you come to accept that. Maybe I do belong here, because I was foolish enough to trust and believe, to leave myself at the hands of a "comrade".

Two years ago, I met her, Julia. She was the one to tell me the whole truth. She had seen the pictures in my apartment and the music box that began everything, even told me to break it apart. No one really expects to have the reason for their false conviction sitting on a surface in their own home, where it's been sitting all along.

I had seen something like pity in that woman's sad, beautiful smile. She understood Vicious, as best as any one could, and I knew she had been dealt a blow by that man as well. When we had found the transmitter hidden within the gears, the rage which had burned in me in prison dissipated. I had grown mad at the thought of Vicious, but seeing the truth in front of me at that moment seemed unreal. The utter grief had built in my stomach, and even now I'm holding out for another truth.

Julia left the same way she had came, drifting out one night when we were all most distracted. Once that one tie to Vicious was gone, I started to contemplate everything again. Those nights were spent the same as when I was lying in prison-planning and thinking.

And now, it all fits together. Vicious is vicious: cruel and terribly clever, Julia had said the same. When he had found me that night in the desert, he had been protecting his own life. I was his scapegoat, the one meant to die in his stead. Had I known the hell he'd put me through, I just might have kept walking back then-might.

Eyes closed, I begin to play. My breath comes harshly at first, awkwardly, until I forget whose song it is. And I loose myself there, finding that the world has drawn close into one point in time. There's nothing then but the music; and I call it forth with the same lips that touched Vicious.

Would I have regretted leaving behind that night? My fascination for the man had never been sexual, albeit I was receptive enough of his advances. Had I been thinking then, I would have known better- would have remembered that one could have easily frozen to death in those sands at night. But the pure intrigue had held my attention, that Vicious could be anything more or less than a deadly god.

The song draws to a close, letting the last notes reverberate through the small bar. I'm reluctant to pull back and recall where I am. In a week or so, he'll be here. I'll see him again, to a settle a deal and bring this all to a close.

Not so long ago I had sat in my apartment, contemplating the inevitable while sending the transmission. All that's left is to wait till he's sent to this frigid place. I'll meet him face to face, stare into those cold eyes, and play his fated lullaby.

I step from the stage, walking towards the counter for a break. The bartender smiles and starts pouring out some warm drink.

"New song, Gren? Don't think I've ever heard that one before." He comments, placing the glass in front of me.

I give him one of those tilted smiles and whisper, "Just some old thing I'd heard once. But it's really just an opening act."

fin-empieza


End file.
